


stud

by petalloso



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, lance is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8004241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalloso/pseuds/petalloso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ow.”</p><p>Keith stops in his tracks, listening. The voice comes again, louder and more elongated this time, muffled behind the door.</p><p>“Ouch,” it says, and then, “shit shit shit.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	stud

“Ow.”

Keith stops in his tracks, listening. The voice comes again, louder and more elongated this time, muffled behind the door.

“Ouch,” it says, and then, “shit shit shit.”

Keith presses his ear to the door, and then there is a tumble and a crash, so he barges in without much thought, shoulder breaking the hinges.

Lance stills mid movement and turns, eyes wide and hair sticking up on one side. His mouth is parted, he holds a small needle in one hand, and there are speckles of blood on his shirt.

“What the hell?”

“Keith!” Is all Lance thinks to say, then, “You broke my door.” He says it as an observation, not accusatory. Neither are moving.

“What are you doing?”

Lance actually has the audacity to grin just then, holding up the needle for Keith to see. He doesn’t seem too concerned with the blood running down his jawbone and dripping down from his chin, so Keith thinks he’d better be concerned for him, and walks across the space of Lance’s room, grabbing a tissue from his desk, which is scattered with miscellaneous things, including a small mirror and for some reason, a bloodied eraser, and pressing his hand to Lance’s cheek with the tissue.

Lance doesn’t say anything of relation to that gesture, and doesn’t seem put off by it, either. He just stays grinning.

“I’m piercing my ears,” he says. “Well, one ear I guess.”

Keith turns his eyes to Lance’s, mouth parted in shock. Lance doesn’t seem to be expecting any different of a reaction, and doesn’t elaborate. He stays silent just as Keith does, as Keith tugs his hair out of the way to inspect his ear.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Did it go all the way through?”

“An idiot,” Keith says again.

“I think we’ve established that.”

Keith sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve got five different pricks on your neck, but the one on your ear actually went through.” He pauses. “Idiot.”

“Yes, yes.” Lance waves his hand in dismissal of the last word, but everything else about him reeks pride. “I did it though! Ha, this is great. Mama is gonna kill me…” Lance walks a few steps away and back to his desk, listing to himself all the many reactions of all the many members of his family. Keith tunes it out, waiting and wondering what to do next.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Hm.”

“Help me get this in.” Lance holds up a small gem, and upon further inspection Keith realizes it’s a stud earring. It’s a pinkish hue, almost transparent, and catches a rainbow in the light, reflecting, when Lance twists it in his fingers.

“Where’d you even get that?”

“Allura gave it to me. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

It’s prettier on Lance, once they figure out how to get it in, but Keith isn’t about to say that.

It’s also distracting. It glistens every time Lance turns his head and catches the light, and the colors compliment the darkness of Lance’s skin in a way that makes Keith’s heart lurch. And after some weeks, when Lance’s hair gets long enough that it sometimes covers his ears, Keith has the urge to tug it back behind his ear so that the earring shows. He resists it all the many times, except once.

It happens when Lance unceremoniously bursts into his room to bother him, complaining of his perpetual boredom and then promptly taking up Keith’s entire bed, sprawling across the mattress and picking at the threads of Keith’s pillow, to rattle on and on about everything that comes to his mind. Keith listens to everything he says from where he’s sitting on the floor, tinkering with his weapon, but every time he glances up his eyes travel to the earring, hidden beneath Lance’s growing hair, before flicking back down.

It gets to be a little too much for him, though, so he rises from his place on the floor, kneels on the bed with one knee sinking into the mattress, leans over, and tucks Lance’s hair out of the way. He nods once, satisfied, and then decides to climb up onto the bed entirely, leaning his back against the wall beside Lance.

When he spares Lance a look, he’s smirking, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You like it.”

“Do not.”

“Ha. You think I’m oblivious. I notice your stares.”

Keith is actually surprised at that. Had he known himself what he was doing, he would have made certain not to be so obvious, but he hadn’t even caught himself until recently, and only because Allura had pointed it out rather too bluntly for his liking. Keith was glad he’d been the last one in the room, because he didn’t think Allura had waited for privacy on purpose to point out Keith’s constant staring.

He did think Lance was oblivious though, to mostly everything, and especially to this.

He wonders if he can deny it.

“Don’t deny it.”

He guesses not.

“Whatever. It’s not like your face has anything to do with the earring.”

“You didn’t seem to care as much when Allura was wearing one.”

“What.”

“She has one just like it, just a different color. I don’t see you gawking at her.”

“Oh my god. Fine, fine!” Keith waves his hand in an exaggerated gesture, frustration reddening his face, or something else. “It looks good on you, great even. You happy?”

Lance smiles and grabs Keith’s hand, uncurling his fisted fingers. He runs his fingertips down each one, and doesn’t let Keith pull away. “Pretty happy, yup. Mostly because you like it.”

“Hu?”

Lance shrugs, still playing with Keith’s fingers.

“I’m happy that you like it.”

Keith doesn’t really know what to say, so he turns his head to face Lance, leans forward, and presses his lips feather light on the skin just where his ear meets his jaw, lips brushing his hair as he pulls away. His face burns, and he wonders if he was meant to do that.

Lance doesn’t react but for the stilling of his hand on Keith’s, before he begins again. Keith studies his face, the red tint that his cheeks have taken, the small smile he dons, so uncharacteristic of Lance, who always smiled huge and unabashed, the stubbornness of his eyes, not turning to face Keith, instead focusing with intent on their entwined fingers.

Keith smiles, too, turning away at length and closing his eyes, listening instead to the hum that begins to sound between them, Lance’s song, a melody from home perhaps, from his youth. He might fall asleep like this, and doesn’t even mind.


End file.
